


Sharing in Sorrow

by VulpesVulpes713



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Universe, Holt Family, Voltron, back on earth, but hopeful, holiday fic, holidays are hard when your entire family is missing, luckily there's a nice cuban lady to help, mention of religion, this one is sad, vld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 21:12:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13062243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpesVulpes713/pseuds/VulpesVulpes713
Summary: She wondered what it was this woman was praying for, and why she was alone. But then again, Mrs. Holt was no better off. It wasn’t her place to assume, so she simply sat and watched and felt a calmness spread throughout her.Her eyes must have drifted shut at one point, because Mrs. Holt found herself opening them as the woman whispered something beside her.“May I ask you a question?”Mrs. Holt blinked, taking in the gleaming blue eyes of the stranger as she rose from her knees to sit properly. She nodded in response.“I can sense you’ve been through something. Your eyes are empty of emotion, save for agony. So tell me, if you don’t mind...who have you lost?”





	Sharing in Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone always seems to forget about Mrs. Holt and what it must be like to lose your entire family....

The Holt family house, usually teaming with peels of laughter and lit to the nines with the most outlandish decor at this time of year, stood dark at the end of the cul-de-sac. 

 

Cold, desolate, and seemingly empty inside; it was a reflection of the woman who lived there, and to those who did not know her would assume she were a recluse. Someone on the run from their past.

 

To those that  _ did _ know her knew that the truth was far more grim. Everyone in the community had heard about the Garrison incidents, either off the news or from Mrs. Holt herself. They knew what had transpired, or so they assumed. The officers had given their statements the first time: the mission failed. The second time was more vague, but no less upsetting: missing and assumed dead. 

 

And so, with those words in their ears, her neighbours had slowly given up. There was only so much they could do to comfort the woman in the dark house. And though mourning the loss of loved ones was a perfectly reasonable thing for a mother to do, there was only so long a person could remain in the denial stage of grief. 

 

It was unhealthy, they would whisper, but lies and excuses are easier to accept when seen from afar. 

 

She knew what they thought about her, the things they would say behind closed doors, or when they thought she was out of earshot.

 

_ A widow _ .  _ One child killed and the other missing.  _

 

_ She’s lost everything. _

 

_ She needs to move on. _

 

They were as hurtful as they were untrue. Mrs. Holt knew in her heart that her entire family couldn’t be lost. Maybe that was crazy to assume, but her husband was capable. Her son was intelligent. And her daughter…

 

Her daughter was the bravest person she knew. 

 

There was just no possible way they were all dead.

 

Still, the whispers went on, and only grew worse around the holiday season. She had learned to ignore the lingering stares; bypass the lulls in conversation. 

 

But it was when the cards started flooding in from relatives, both distant and not, that were the final straw for Mrs. Holt.

 

Or should she say ‘Ms. Holt’, as was written in the address on the envelopes. 

 

So even her family figured it was time to accept the truth.

 

Not her truth though. Theres. 

 

_ Never.  _

 

She burned the cards without opening them. The action gave her a sense of rebellion, as if the ashes from the paper would signal her children to come home; like the smell of dry smoke would alert her husband that he was needed. 

 

The cards burned, and the coals cooled, yet the front door remained shut.

 

And so it went that Mrs. Holt went for a walk.

 

It was late, and cold, but she didn’t care. The breeze on her cheeks was refreshing, a reminder that she was still alive, and still able to search.

 

She wasn’t going to give up, would  _ never _ give up, but the dark house she resided within had been closing in on her all day, reminding her of the time of year; maybe curious as to why it was still naked while the other houses were strung up in lights. 

 

But she wouldn’t celebrate without her family;  _ couldn’t _ even fathom the idea. 

 

So she went for a walk. 

 

Her mind had a habit of wandering these days, diverging from thought to thought until she was so deep within them that she hardly noticed the small woman in front of her on the sidewalk, waving a hand in polite greeting.

 

Mrs. Holt blinked, nodding once, and went on her way.

 

But then a sound came from behind her, and she realized all at once that the woman was speaking.

 

“-be able to show me where one is?”

 

Mrs. Holt paused, turning back to stare at the woman as she processed half of the request. The lady was small in stature, though Mrs. Holt was a taller woman, so perhaps she was of average height. Her hair was done up in a tight knot, dark chocolate and undeniably curly. A loose strand hung down around her face, which was round and friendly, though the lines etched near her eyes told a different story; one of sorrow and many nights spent sobbing into a pillow.

 

Mrs. Holt knew those eyes well, as she saw them reflected in her mirror each morning. She took no comfort in seeing them on the skin of this individual. Grief like that should not be shared. 

 

“Pardon,” she made herself say, despite not wanting to converse. “I didn’t catch that first part.”

 

The woman smiled, the action somehow brightening her entire persona. 

 

“I was wondering if you knew where the nearest church is,” she asked; traces of an accent colouring her words.

 

Mrs. Holt was slightly taken aback. She was a woman of science, and as such, religion had never been of interest to her. And churches, being places of worship, were buildings she often neglected to keep tabs on. 

 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

 

The woman, though slightly disheartened, did not drop her smile, which was commendable in the face of disappointment. 

 

“That’s fine deary. I’ll keep searching.”

 

She smiled once more, as if the lack of information was still worthy of gratitude, and continued on her way. 

 

Mrs. Holt would normally have done the same, but as she watched the woman leave, she saw the undeniable traces of sadness lurking just beneath the surface. The way her shoulders sagged as she sighed heavily, and the unmistakable lack of warmth that had fled with her smile. 

 

This was a woman hurting on the holidays, same as she, and Mrs. Holt would not become one of her neighbours: abandoning all efforts of helping due to lack of understanding.  

 

And so it went that Mrs. Holt hurried to catch up, startling the woman only slightly as she kept pace beside her.

 

“But I can look for one,” she explained, pulling out her phone and hastily typing ‘churches’ into the search engine. Several popped up in the vicinity, and she was mildly surprised to see such an array of religious houses supported in the area. She held out her phone for the other woman to see. “You have quite the selection.”

 

The woman laughed; a cheery noise that Mrs. Holt hadn’t heard in ages, both from others and herself. 

 

“Oh deary,” the woman beamed, “it doesn’t work like that. But this one should do nicely.” She pointed, and Mrs. Holt directed them towards the building. 

 

It was a quaint church: decorated accordingly and giving off a sense of hospitality that was remarkably welcoming. Again, Mrs. Holt was not one for believing in gods and spirits and ghosts, but she couldn’t deny the presence the church possessed. She stood transfixed as the woman thanked her.

 

“I appreciate your help,” she began, but trailed off as she noticed the way Mrs. Holt stared at the building. “Did you want to come in?”

 

Mrs. Holt blinked, stunned out of her reverie by the question.

 

“Oh, no. I can’t. Shouldn’t. I’m not...don’t-” she broke off with a sigh as the woman chuckled warmly. 

 

“You don’t have to believe deary,” she said. “The house of God is welcome to all, especially on a cold night when the heart is lonely.” 

 

Mrs. Holt couldn’t answer, so instead she nodded and followed the woman inside. Rows of pews were decorated with red poinsettias, nearly empty save for an older couple near the front. The altar was spectacularly lit with an array of candles, and where one would typically consider such a vast amount of open flame dangerous, Mrs. Holt found herself in awe. 

 

It was beautiful, the church, and provided a welcome distraction for her mind. But more than that, it gave off a peculiar sense of peace. The storm of denial and sorrow and guilt within her felt suppressed for once in a very long time, and though she wouldn’t go so far as to call it an awakening of her spiritual self, she could admit that the building held a power she couldn’t comprehend. 

 

“It’s lovely,” she commented, not daring to speak louder than a whisper. The woman beside her only smiled in reply, moving to sit and gesturing for her to follow. Mrs. Holt did as beckoned, but grew confused as she watched the woman take out a long string of beads from her purse, grasping them tightly as she went to her knees and bowed her head. 

 

“I-uh-” 

 

“It’s alright,” the woman reassured her. “Do what you feel comfortable with. Just know that your prayers will be heard no matter how you speak them.”

 

And so it went that Mrs. Holt sat quietly beside the stranger, gazing up at the statues on the altar and admiring the works of art on the walls. 

 

Some time passed, and still the woman prayed. Mrs. Holt hadn’t wanted to pry, but her curiosity won out in the end. She watched shyly out of the corner of her eye, noticing how the woman’s mouth was moving in silent speech; her eyes shut tight as her fingers trembled over the beads in her grasp. 

 

She wondered what it was this woman was praying for, and why she was alone. But then again, Mrs. Holt was no better off. It wasn’t her place to assume, so she simply sat and watched and felt a calmness spread throughout her.

 

Her eyes must have drifted shut at one point, because Mrs. Holt found herself opening them as the woman whispered something beside her.

 

“May I ask you a question?”

 

Mrs. Holt blinked, taking in the gleaming blue eyes of the stranger as she rose from her knees to sit properly. She nodded in response.

 

“I can sense you’ve been through something. Your eyes are empty of emotion, save for agony. So tell me, if you don’t mind...who have you lost?”

 

Mrs. Holt swallowed thickly, her anger flaring briefly at the assumptions of this woman. But then...she wasn’t wrong, and her observations were accurate enough. Beside, the word ‘lost’ had many definitions, and not all of them meant forever. 

 

So Mrs. Holt told the truth.

 

“My-” she began, but found her voice too weak to continue the statement. The word ‘family’ hung heavy on her tongue; a mouthful of remorse that prevented her from saying what was required. Talking about her loved ones was always difficult, but usually she was able to persevere. 

 

This time however, she found her eyes begin to water unexpectedly; jaw trembling under the weight of that word.  

 

The woman seemed to understand, and patted her hand lightly.

 

“I lost my son,” she confessed, and Mrs. Holt raised her gaze to meet those startling blue eyes. “Nearly a year ago,” she went on, staring up at the altar with a reminiscent expression. “He’s my youngest. My baby...and one day he was just gone.”

 

Mrs. Holt felt a tear slide down her cheek, and hastily wiped it away as she scooted in closer, eager to provide comfort now that she knew this woman shared in her pain. 

 

“How did he die?” she asked, and the woman whirled on her, shock clearly evident on her features.

 

“He didn’t-he’s not dead!” she exclaimed, and the couple from the front glanced over at the commotion. The woman noticed and lowered her voice before going on. “He’s not dead,” she repeated. “I can feel it in my heart that he’s alive, somewhere. I pray that he is safe, and that one day he’ll return to us, but...my boy is not dead.” 

 

Mrs. Holt felt terrible. How could she, someone who’s been subjected to countless pity parties and made infuriated by the lack of belief that her family was still out there, have fallen into that same trap? How could she have allowed herself to assume the very same that everyone else thought about her loved ones? That them missing automatically equated to death? 

 

It was unfair, and she scolded herself.

 

“I apologize,” she whispered genuinely. And then, because she felt stronger now that this woman also shared in the belief that her loved one was still out there, decided to share her story. “My husband and son are missing. They’ve been declared dead, but I don’t believe it. The facts don’t add up but no one will answer my questions. And then my daughter-” she broke off, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “My daughter went missing not long after. She’s been gone for nearly a year as well. And still no one will give me answers! Everyone thinks I’m crazy for still thinking they’re alive, for  _ hoping _ ! So I apologize for assuming your son was dead. I know too well how that feels-” she was cut off as arms wrapped around her shoulders, and all at once she was pulled into a tight hug. 

 

The woman was crying; the tears soaking into Mrs. Holt’s coat, but she didn’t care. Instead she returned the hug after recovering from her initial shock, and they sat like that for a long while. 

 

Eventually the woman broke apart, wiping her face with the back of her hand as she choked out a broken laugh. 

 

“I’ll pray for your family,” she said at last, voice soft, and Mrs. Holt felt a small smile tug at her lips. She still didn’t believe in any gods, but who was she to tell anyone what was real and not? Fact from fiction? If the two of them could have faith that their loved ones were still alive, then she would gladly accept a prayer said in their name. 

 

Besides, it was comforting to imagine something watching over her family; protecting them where she could not. 

 

“They’ll come back to us deary,” the woman added, and the determination in her voice was inspiring. “And when they do we’ll be here ready to hold them and rock them in our arms. My boy was already taller than myself, but I’ll still sit him on my lap and sing softly in his ear.” Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears, but the woman smiled nonetheless. “I’ll hold onto him until he asks me to stop, and even then I might not let go.”

 

Mrs. Holt’s laughter was laced with sobs as she regarded the woman beside her. She often thought about what she would do when her family came back. Cry, likely, but that was a given. And she knew that it would be difficult to ever let go once she had them within reach. 

 

“I think I’ll tell them how much I love them, and how I’ve missed them. And then I think I’ll take them someplace safe, and put GPS trackers on all of them so I never lose them again.”

 

The woman chuckled at that, patting Mrs. Holt’s hand again as she nodded her agreement. 

 

“I would harness my boy if I could, but that would be like trapping a wave. He’s a free spirit, and I only hope that he’s safe wherever he is. And not alone.” She turned to glance up at Mrs. Holt then, eyes searching her face kindly. “No one should ever be alone.”

 

_ And yet I am… _

 

But Mrs. Holt didn’t say that. Instead she nodded, staring over at the altar and sitting in silence with the woman. 

 

When they finally stood, the candles had burned a large portion of wick, but Mrs. Holt mourned not the loss of time. She had nowhere else to be, and had enjoyed the comfort the stranger had provided. 

 

It was when they reached the entrance that the woman paused, turning back to her with a question.

 

“Would you, perhaps, like to come visit tomorrow? I have a feeling that we were meant to meet this night.”

 

Mrs. Holt considered only for a moment, before nodding and feeling a genuine smile grace her face.

 

“I would like that very much,” she answered, and though she couldn’t say for sure if it was fate that the two had met, she could admit that the company was welcome. It was...nice, to have someone who not only understood how she felt, but shared in her thoughts without looking at her with pity or urging her to move on. 

 

Perhaps the two had more in common than they thought.

 

And so it went that Mrs. Holt joined the McClain’s for the holidays, and together they shared stories of their families, cursing the Garrison and wondered if maybe, _ just _ maybe, their lost ones were together somewhere; safe and warm and fighting to get back home. 

 

And for the first time in a long while, Mrs. Holt felt her hope renewed, as if someone had lit a candle in the window of her dark house. A beacon for her husband and children to find. 

 

Her family was still out there, she knew, as was Mrs. McClain’s son, and likely the others who had disappeared so suddenly and without explanation. 

 

So she wouldn’t stop searching. 

 

_ Ever. _

 

But now she knew she wasn’t as alone as she thought. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [my Tumblr](https://www.vulpes--vulpes@tumblr.com)


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